Angel Easter

When the Chaplain came to my hospital bed, I was crying hysterically and could barely get out any words, the nurse was nervous, as I was having trouble breathing. I was only able to muster up the words, please pray for my baby that didn’t make it. He said, some times, God needs the smallest and tiniest of Angels, thus I named my child that I had lost over the Easter weekend, Angel Easter.

On April 5, 2012, I was 22 weeks (5 months) pregnant and for the second day in a row was vomiting and not feeling well.  I decided to leave that afternoon a little early from work and go to the emergency room to be checked out; I figured they would reassure my nerves and tell me that this is all part of pregnancy and prescribe some rest and tylenol.  I reassured myself that everything was fine, I had no bleeding and during all my prenatal visits, the doctors and midwives said baby and I were healthy. I didn’t smoke, I was 29 years old, young, healthy, fit, no health issues. But after several hours in triage, I knew something was wrong when the doctor said, “Thank God you listened to your intuition and came in.”  She further said that I was being admitted and that I was going to the labor and deliver unit to be further checked out.    

Over the next hours, the pain only further increased and I was diagnosed with preeclampsia which included more vomiting, chest pains, headaches, and swelling of my face and limbs.  It was at this point that the hours and days began to blend together, Thursday turned into Friday, Friday turned into Saturday, Saturday turned into Sunday.  I only remember the doctor telling me that I had now been diagnosed with HELLP syndrome and that now we are talking about life and death.  The doctor said the only way to save my life was to deliver the baby tonight. My heart sank as I knew 22 weeks was too premature to deliver a baby. He said, yes I know, your baby will not survive, there is nothing we can do to save your baby. He continued, at this point, you are going to die, so what I’m telling you is about the only thing we can do and that is to save your life.  He told me that if I didn’t deliver the baby, that I would likely have a brain hemorrhage and die and that the baby and I would both be dead.  

I just remember tears flowing like a water fountain. I really couldn’t understand, where was advanced science and medicine? Surely my life or the baby’s life is not the option. The doctor just kept saying preservation of mother. The doctors began to induce me.  I knew the choice I was making, but on some level I held out hope, that a tiny miracle would happen and that everything was going to be okay, somehow my baby would defy all odds and would survive at just 22 weeks gestation barely weighing 2 pounds.  

The doctors confirmed over, perhaps so I knew what I would expect, that there was no way the baby would survive more than a few seconds outside the womb.  Every several hours I was vaginally, orally and even renal induced with pills.  Several hours went by and on the second day, the doctors were giving me pitocin to induce me. I was told that the process would take about 24 hours, but at about 48 hours, my cervix had only dilated a few centimeters.  The doctor said that my body was refusing to deliver because it knew that it was not time to push. I remember the doctors stating they could use other interventions to help push the baby and placenta out since baby was so small, but after my HELLP syndrome seem to progress more, it was clear that I was going to have to go into emergency surgery, nearly two days of being in labor.  

I remember the last ultrasound and unfortunately didn’t hear the usual thundering noise of horse racing, also known as my baby’s heart rate.  I think I asked several times about the baby and they finally told me that the baby had passed, there was no heart rate and I had already miscarried. The small hope I had saved out for had diminished. A tiny light went to complete darkness. 

I don’t remember going for surgery, I don’t remember when I woke up, I couldn’t even remember how many days had already passed, after all I couldn’t eat during labor and I had been previously throwing up the prior two days before. I just remember having a pain in my heart aching for my baby that never did come.  The doctors said that I would be able to go home in 24-48 hours, which is the expected time that vital signs will return to normal after taking out the baby and placenta when the mother has HELLP syndrome.   But it was only a day or two later that my vital signs not only were not normalizing, but getting worse.  I was with the nurse when I started spitting up blood who immediatley called the doctor.  The doctor began to run through my medical history with me. He believed that the pregnancy had potentially masked another disease, perhaps something genetic like sickle cell, lupus, and he called in specialists-hematologists and renal doctors to run more tests.  

The irony of it all, I felt fine. I was ready to be discharged and began the process of moving on. But the doctor said that if I left the hospital, I would just collapse on the street. It was the next day I believe that I had several specialists reviewing my charts and blood work, and concluded that I had now TTP blood disease which stemmed from the pregnancy. I was confused, how was I getting worse, they promised me I would get better and be discharged soon, that the surgery had saved my life. The doctor reassured me that I was not going anywhere, he said that if I were to leave the hospital, I would just collapse and be back here in the hospital, if not dead. The good news though, they reassured me that TTP is 100% treatable and although they are not 100% conclusive that’s what I have, they are pretty sure based on how my blood is acting under the microscope, the actually test takes about a week to get conclusive results.    

I couldn’t understand it, why, why, why. The doctor said it is rare that women die during childbirth and that I almost died about 3 different times. Rare he said that women miscarry during the 22nd week of pregnancy, rare that healthy women suffer from HELLP syndrome, rare that it then causes TTP blood disease. I struggled with the word, RARE. How valuable is a rare gemstone? Don’t we love rarity, something that doesn’t conform. My rarity had nearly killed me.

How do you explain the love you have for something you never held? I was going to be a mother, do anything to protect my child. I had plans to take my child with me, to travel the world, would know all the capitals of the world and be able to say greetings in nearly every language. How does something growing inside you, beating inside you, living off your nutrients just stop? I’ve cried every day, for a baby’s face I never saw, a grip I never felt. What do I do with the milk in my breasts? The physical pain is there, I’m currently taking about 16 pills a day and will possibly need further treatments for TTP. My body is slowly losing the weight I had gained. I have a whole in my upper chest area for the frozen platelets and plasma treatments along with bruises, scars all over my body. I don’t even recognize my body, I guess it looks like life has been sucked from me. My legs, feet, veins, arms, everything looks and feels different. I’ve had more than 6 IVs in my body, blood drawn every 4 hours, even from my feet. I’ve had a blood transfusion and two treatments of plasmapheresis.

The doctor told me that I had been really sick, but I was lucky to be alive. Hard to feel lucky. The chaplain who had first prayed for Angel had sent another chaplain to visit me, Jill. Jill told me that she had miscarried three times and during one of her pregnancies had gave birth to Jacob, who was stillborn. I felt inspired by her strength. She told me that she knew what I was going through. We talked over a few days and I think I admired her most by the tough love she gave me. She told me to be prepared to have to explain to people who don’t know. She told me to ignore the people who tell you to just get over it or will say other insensitive comments. Adam Ruiz was the chaplain who initially came to visit me. We actually spent a lot of time talking about TexMex food-a bond we quickly found — I told him that I lived 2 years in Mexico and his parents were Mexican immigrants. I listened to Adam tell me that he had been diagnosed with brain cancer at the tender age of 19 and has partial paralysis due to the tumor. Lucky, the doctor told me. I wanted to feel lucky, but I didn’t, but how could I complain listening to others who clearly had suffered more than me. How could I complain when I watch outside my hospital room the helicopters land, transporting the most serious of victims.

I never knew the sex of the baby, but in my heart I felt that it was a girl, perhaps the first sign of a mother’s intuition. When the nurse came in the room with a memory box-everything was pink. I didn’t ask her if she had saw on the ultrasound or how she knew, perhaps she just picked up what was on top of the stack, but it felt right that everything was for a girl. A pink box with an announcement card saying “It’s a Girl!” There was a tiny pink knitted hat, a premature baby diaper, along with it’s hospital bracelets. The nurse had given me a teddy bear, given to those who suffer a miscarriage and/or still birth. She asked if I had given the baby a name, and I told her Angel Easter which she filled out for me on card and bracelets. I guess it is strange to others to be comforted by a memory box and a teddy bear, but looking at it, makes me feel better. I’m grateful for my family, especially my brothers who were there in the hospital with me, my friend who came to spend the night with me twice, cried with me, spoiled me with candy and combed my nappy hair. Grateful for the friends who called and cried over the phone with me and sent flowers. And to the medical staff, especially the nurses-Megan, Erny, Kim, Tamra, Eisel, Elizabeth, Chelsea and others that I might have forgotten who took care of me in the middle of the night when I was suffering both physically and emotionally.

I’ve been encouraged to grieve, to cry, to share my story. I feel like I can’t write it all down. What words can describe the sense of loss a mother feels after a miscarriage? A belonging to something that will never be? An emptiness that fills so heavy? Why do I love something that never came? Want to hug something that doesn’t exist? Why do I want to kiss a forehead that I’ve never seen or have tiny fingers grip my pinky? How do you explain that you love something so much, when it’s not there?

Angel Easter, the child I never got to sing a lullaby to, the child that never was rocked by my bosom, how I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, how much I cared for you, how I long to meet you. To my unborn child, may you immediately have wings and sing in the choir. May you already met your grandmother. May we meet one day.

Tags: Healing, Miscarriage